What to Expect
by how-to-implode
Summary: "Not one person in the entire wizarding world expected to find a Hermione Malfoy joining the class of would-be graduates returning ..." A marriage born of rather unexpected circumstances. And no, it's not because of magical bonding or Veela blood.
1. Chapter 1

_So, this is my first fanfic since middle school. And all I wrote in middle school were crappy Mary Sue-ish OC fics ... so this may as well count as my first. Haha. I **LOVE** feedback on my writing. Constructive criticism is valued just as much as a compliment. I don't so much need input on the canon-ity of my content, since I'm clearly ignoring certain parts of canon. I try to stick to it for the most part, though._

_Oh, and this chapter greatly lacks explanations for current circumstances of our beloved characters. They'll be revealed in the next chapters. :)  
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_Anyhow, enjoy?  
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Not one person in the entire wizarding world expected to find a Hermione Malfoy joining the class of would-be graduates returning to complete their seventh year at Hogwarts. The witch in question was herself having trouble with the idea.

It was not that anyone doubted that she'd continue her studies. Her hard-earned reputation as perfect student/compulsive know-it-all was not forgotten even amidst her fame as a hero of the war. No, it was only that common knowledge held that she was more likely to marry Minerva McGonogall than the boy whose surname she now bore.

The young witch permitted herself a sigh as she threw the last of her robes into her trunk, mulling over these very sentiments.

"What a mess," she murmured, not for the first time, standing at the center of the spotless room. "And to think, all of it because of one little-"

"Talking to yourself, Granger? Shall we ask the train to make a detour to St. Mungo's?"

She spun sharply to face the door, glaring at the figure in the doorway. His infuriating, cocky smirk was ever-present as of late. No matter how he hated the situation, he did relish her current dependence on his family. Her right hand twitched as she briefly remembered knocking that smirk off his pretty little face in third year. She took on a cool tone as she straightened out her clothing.

"It might do you good, Draco, to call your wife by her given name." His eyes narrowed.

"It might to my _wife_ good to get her arse downstairs for breakfast. Mother wants to speak to us both before we leave."

"I'll be right down, then. I've just finished packing."

"Hah. So that's why your house elf was downstairs sitting on her hands. Mother nearly had a fit, you know. She's really trying to be careful about your condition."

"I sent the poor elf away because I am perfectly capable of packing my trunk, regardless of my 'condition'," she snapped. "I'm pregnant, not an invalid."

The words hung between them as they stood glaring at each other, reminded again of the reason for the surely disastrous change in the direction of both their lives. It was Malfoy who broke eye-contact first.

"Very well. You can hash it out with Mother, if you're so adamant. I'll be downstairs. Hurry up." And before Hermione could even blink he was walking swiftly down the hall. As soon as he left, her posture relaxed and she gave another sigh, this one more resigned. She looked down at her stomach, rather flat still at only two months.

"And to think, all because of one little baby I can't bear to let go."

Hermione's gut clenched as she and her now-family arrived at the apparation point on Platform 9 ¾. Though she had been chomping at the bit to escape the cold manor and Narcissa's incessant suggestions that she "mind the baby" and "not overwork herself" by doing the most mundane and unstrenuous tasks, she was now facing a year amongst the most judgmental people one might ever hope to find – teenagers. Her own peers, moreover.

She could ignore the papers and their sickening attraction to scandal, but she knew that her classmates would not. Bad enough that she was married to an ex-Death Eater and son of one of Voldemort's right-hand men, but rumors had also surfaced that she was pregnant with his child. The family had yet to comment on the claim, but the moment she puked in front of a classmate, everyone would know it was true.

'This is absurd; I fought in the front lines of one of the greatest wizarding wars. Being judged by a bunch of children shouldn't scare me.'

Nonetheless, her vision started wavering and she grabbed the sleeve closest to her, Draco's, in a tight fist.

"Hermione, dear, are you quite alright?" Narcissa's face swam before her. "You're so pale. Do you feel faint?"

Narcissa Malfoy was a surprising woman indeed. After all she had endured, her utter lack of control over her life during the war and her husband's recent imprisonment in Azkaban, she found within herself a strength that no one had expected she possessed. When Hermione confronted them with the pregnancy, it was immediately apparent who ran the house now.

There was no small amount of fury in that slim, slight body. At first she turned white as a sheet, and Hermione was quite convinced that the woman would, in fact, faint. However, her words came out sharp and cogent, and by the end of her ten-minute tirade some color had crept into her cheeks.

Though much of the yelling was undirected, aimed at the world or the gods or whoever had directed this catastrophe, she did take a minute to turn on her son.

"And you!" she shrilled. "How could you?"

"I'm sorry mother. I don't know what I was thinking, how it happened with a Mudblood-"

"Blood be damned!" Both expectant parents stared at her with dropped jaws. "I simply expected better of you, Draco. I'm not so naïve as to think that you haven't been … well … you are a young man. But I expected you to be careful! Do you understand what you've done to this poor girl's life?" Malfoy was taken aback.

"How is this only my fault?"

"Which of you is the one with the necessary parts to impregnate the other, hm?" Draco ducked his gaze to the floor, clearly uncomfortable discussing genitals with his mother. "So who, then, is responsible for those parts and the things they excrete? In my day, boys weren't stupid enough to impregnate a girl unless they were ready to marry her."

With that she dropped back down into her seat and stared at the two youths pointedly.

Since the night she had coerced the two to agree to marriage, Narcissa took to Hermione rather well. She was charmed by her smarts and some of her "lower-class quirks". And she worried as only a mother could over her and the baby's well-being.

Overworried, really, Hermione thought as she forced a smile.

"Just a bit peckish, perhaps. I'll be sure to eat again after I've heaved up my breakfast," she promised. The woman's face fell into a slight grimace, but she recovered quickly.

"Yes, well, do make sure of that. Draco, dear, help her onto the train. And take care of her at school, and behave yourself, _please_." With a quick peck on the cheek and a small but warm smile, she gave him a gentle push toward the train.

As the door slid shut behind them and the train started rolling away, clacking against the tracks below, fear tugged at Hermione's chest once more. She looked out the door's small window at Narcissa, who was waving a white hankie at the still slow-moving train, looking like any Hogwarts parent rather than the mother of perhaps the most hated boy currently attending the school and in-law to the girl bearing his accidental child.

And quite suddenly, Hermione found herself wishing for one more moment of the Malfoy matron's comforting hands on her arm and assurances that everything would be quite alright.


	2. Chapter 2

Soooo ... sorry it took so long to update. ;_; I really didn't think it would be so long, but just as I posted the first chapter my schedule suddenly became flooded. Apparently in college, second semester is serious business. Especially when you're a microbiology major. I also had two entirely shitty weeks, so naturally I wasn't in the mood to write then.

In any case, I did my best. Hopefully the next chapters won't take nearly as long. Everything that's happened before the story's start is being illuminated slowly and a bit backward ... but bear with me!

Also, so many people have read my story! And added it to their notifications! I'm so excited. I really didn't expect that much attention.

* * *

Though they weren't unexpected, there was really no way to prepare for the vicious glares the couple received from nearly every compartment they passed. Face after face after angry face, with only a few neutral or even kind looks buried among them, assaulted the two as they made their way to the front of the train.

"Full, full, full …. Really, you'd think they would have the courtesy to reserve a compartment for the school's heads. Looks like the school really is fumbling," Draco scoffed.

"I think," Hermione quipped wearily, "that with our not-so-hidden animosity they assumed they wouldn't have to bother. Besides, there are more students this year because of the returning seventh years."

Malfoy simply grumbled as they reached the end of the last corridor and found themselves at the very front of the train. She stood and looked around, wondering what to do, until Draco ducked in front of her and yanked open a compartment door. Inside was a lone fourth-year.

"Mind if we take this compartment? All the others are full."

"Well, now that you've breathed into it …" the boy snarled as he jerkily collected his bags. The venom in his voice was not at all veiled, and as he brushed past them he distinctly muttered "traitor".

"Want to try saying that again?" Malfoy shouted back down the hall as the boy quickly found another compartment to duck into. Hermione simply dropped herself into a seat in theirs, taking up as much room as she pleased, knowing that her husband would not bother sitting next to her.

"D'you suppose he meant you or me?" she asked flatly as she leaned her head against the window.

"Who bloody knows?" Draco settled into his seat across from her. "Why would he mean you, anyway? Me, I understand; I'm either a blood-traitor or the prat who worked for Voldemort, depending on who you ask. But you're the brainy third of Golden Trio, 'most brilliant witch of her time!'"

"I'm also the girl who apparently betrayed her very cause by marrying the aforementioned prat." She gave him a wry smirk. "I'm wed to Hogwarts' ultimate pariah. For most people, that's bad enough.

And with that the conversation was over, which left only silence.

Hermione pressed her forehead against the glass and tried to let the familiar rocking of the train, the rolling blur of the landscape lull her mind away from the summer. But when she pictured the familiar halls of the school, she could only picture them as they were before the final battle and fill them with the faces of her friends.

She had Advanced Potions with the Patil twins – an amusing pair, those were. Lavender Brown was bound to be there as well (and didn't that business with Ron seem so petty now? Insignificant, really). Neville was off elsewhere in England studying with a renowned herbologist, but surely he'd come and work with Professor Sprout every so often. Seamus Finnegan was sure to be found in the common room every night with Dean Thomas, cracking jokes and keeping the atmosphere light. And Ginny was to be Prefect this year.

The thought sent a jolt of pain back through her heart. Ginny, who had taken it so well, assured her that she would always think of her as a sister. While the rest of the family ….

She closed her eyes as they started burning with tears. She didn't understand why they expected her to be with Ron, really. It just couldn't happen anymore, and it should have been obvious when they returned back to the Burrow, when Hermione started to withdraw more and more into herself. Ron had sprung back quickly. Harry had Ginny to heal his war scars. Even George seemed to be managing well after his other half's death. So it became easy to overlook her sudden quietness, hollowness, distance from the family. Most everyone assumed she would "pep up" after some time.

They should have noticed. They were so set on rebuilding their lives perfectly; they shouldn't have just ignored the piece that didn't fit. She could tell herself that over and over again, but when she closed her eyes the memories of the morning she left were so vivid. Molly's livid red face, her sentences quickly deteriorating into her characteristic outraged babble.

**"Of all the- Out! Get out! One hour! I'll burn your things! Don't think I won't! Leading ****on- And MY family! Absolutely unforgiv- The hussy! Really; pregnant!" **

The shouts followed her as she ran up the stairs to pack her things. She _didn't_ doubt that anything she left would be burned by the fiercely protective matron.

At one point Ginny joined her, the only one in the house who had been sensitive to the changes in her best friend. Harry stood in the door, shuffling awkwardly a bit.

"If you … if you need anything. Money or a place to stay …."

She shook her head. She couldn't ask that of him. Besides, she knew what Ron's reaction to that would be. She'd made enough of a mess, no need to ruin everything.

What stung the most were Ron's final words to her. The pain and disgust in his face as he spat them at her.

"What, so you'll go have a nice shag with some random guy, but you won't even touch me? Not good enough or something, am I? I don't even believe you. Who was it, then?"

When she whispered the one name he never expected to hear, he didn't say another word. Only turned furiously red and stormed from the room. The tears came again with a vengeance.

Fifty minutes after her eviction was issued she walked to the apparation point just beyond the Weasley property, eyes puffy and lashes wet. She didn't know where the manor was, but she could stop somewhere in Diagon Alley and collect herself before taking the Knight Bus. She turned for one last look at the Burrow, the only place she could have called home now. The only family she had, with her parents still Obliviated in Australia. In the door stood Ginny, leaning back in Harry's arms. She gave a feeble teary smile and blew a kiss. It was all just too much.

"Granger. Granger! HERMIONE."

She awoke to rough shaking and the face of Draco Malfoy, blurred through a haze of tears, before her. The pain of her dreams still roiled fiercely in her stomach.

As she stared at him dazedly, still a bit cross-eyed from her sleep, the jostling of the train brought a now-familiar feeling to her throat. Before he could comment on the sudden change in her color, she shoved Malfoy aside and bolted through the door.

The distance across the hall was blessedly short. As she hurtled into a stall and threw herself unceremoniously down before the toilet, she only had time to pull her hair back before the first retches started. She vaguely thought of the startled wide eyes she passed as she burst into the bathroom. They'd probably clear out once they heard the most melodious sounds of Hermione Granger being relieved of her breakfast.

Her stomach totally spent itself, a combination of morning sickness and the remnants of her emotion from her memories wringing it out. Upon spitting out the last of the bile in her throat, she leaned her head against the cool tile of the walls and let out a long breath. There was always that moment of calm afterward, when all she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears. She felt better at least, she thought as she stood and flushed.

That feeling quickly faded as she stepped out of the stall to find the three pairs of eyes she passed on the way in still staring back at her. She was horrified enough that both the Patil twins and Lavender Brown were gaping at her in shocked silence. Then Lavender found her voice.

"Blimey, you _are_ pregnant."


	3. Chapter 3

_A new chapter! Huzzah!_

_I'm not even going to bother with excuses anymore. You all know how life gets. Luckily, summer's almost here!_

_A friend of mine pointed out recently that the story has thus far been very Hermione-centric. Fear not! We've got a good dose of Draco in this chapter, and a good deal more to come. Hopefully you'll like his transformation._

_I'm also always worried about the length of my chapters and whether my writing style is too florid ..._

* * *

"Honestly, Lav, you didn't have to make her cry." Parvati admonished as she dabbed at Hermione's cheeks with a square of toilet paper.

"Well I didn't think she'd start crying like that!"

"You can't be so blunt with her – she's delicate right now."

"I-I'm not d … _delicate_!" bawled the girl in question.

"There there, of course not." Padma rubbed her back soothingly.

"Yeah – if there's one tough gal at Hogwarts, it's gotta be you." Lavender paused and gave a sympathetic sigh. "So it's Malfoy's?" Hermione nodded ruefully. "Figured you wouldn't ever marry him otherwise. And how's that?"

"... odd." She shook her head and laughed as she wiped a tear away. "Nothing like I thought marrying a Malfoy would be like, much less how I pictured my own married life. I don't even know where I could begin_."_

"Living in the manor must be pretty neat, at least. Filthy rich as they are."

"Well … no, not so much. It's very … cold. And strange. Narcissa tries to make me feel at home, I suppose. But with her upbringing she just doesn't quite understand-"

"Narcissa? She lets you call her by her first name!"

"Yes. She quite likes me, actually." Hermione paused at the looks of shock on the girls' faces. "I know, I had about the same reaction. But she's really been on my side through all of this. She's actually the one who made us get married."

"And that makes you happy?" Lavender blanched.

"It makes me feel … secure. It means he can't shirk his duties to us. And I really do want my child to have a father. Even if he doesn't give a damn about me, he can't just reject his flesh and blood." She paused again as if remembering something and then chuckled. "You wouldn't think it, but Narcissa is a formidable woman. I think the war changed her for the better, made her stronger and got rid of her blood prejudices. She's a strong woman, dealing with her husband's antics and now … a grandchild.

"And she _made_ you get married?"

"It's more that she forced our hand, I suppose. After scolding Draco at great length, which was about as amusing to watch as you'd think it is, she basically told us that she expected us to wed. Draco insisted he'd just take care of us financially, me and the baby, but she cut him off saying that we wouldn't receive a single knut unless we married. And while I hesitated as much as the next person would … it really seemed like the right thing to do. I couldn't give my child a future on my own, while the Malfoys, if only with their money, could open so many doors."

"What about the Weasleys? I mean, money's tight for them, that's no secret, but you're basically one of their own, so surely …." Lavender trailed off as she say the miserable look on Hermione's face.

"Now now," Parvati swiftly cut in. "It won't do for the Head Girl to show up crying on the first day of school. We can talk all about this later. For now let's just gossip. Where are you sitting?"

"Right up front … with Draco." If any of the girls minded, they didn't let on.

"We'll join you, then. I happen to have a particularly juicy story about two young ladies who snogged a pair of professional Quiddich players at a club.

"Parv, surely you don't mean …."

She merely winked at her twin and looped her arm through Hermione's.

* * *

Draco didn't bother to look up from his book until halfway through his sentence, and that was probably a mistake.

"About damn time. How long can it possibly take to- …. And what's this?" He found himself staring up at three rather peeved girls and a resigned Hermione.

"What's it look like, Malfoy?" Lavender gave a sneer that could rival his.

"How boorish. That's no way to talk to your wife." Quipped one twin.

"Indeed. Didn't your mother teach you better?"

"She certainly does try." Hermione muttered as she slipped past the girls and to her seat. Malfoy shot her a seething glare before returning his gaze to his book. With a compartment full of nattering girls, however, his concentration would have quite a time following.

* * *

"And so there I was, left with Oliver Wood and … well, his wood! Just rubbing himself up behind me like it was nothing!"

Another explosion of giggles jerked Draco from his reading.

Granted, Bettering Broomsticks: Advances in Theory and Practice of Broom-Making wasn't the most enthralling book he could have picked from his library. But it was the principle of it – a man should be able to read in peace in his own train compartment. His eyes narrowed dangerously at the girls as he snapped his book shut.

"That so, Patil? And how many pints were pumped into him before he found you attractive? If you had given him one more he probably couldn't have even gotten it up." The girls bristled.

"Know that from experience, Malfoy?" snapped Parvati.

"We all know that's never been a problem for me." He sneered back. His satisfaction with his retort was quickly marred by the conspicuous flinch and change of color across Hermione's face. He opened his mouth to correct his mistake (he only meant to refer to his status as Slytherin Sex-God, after all), but the more perceptive Patil cut him off.

"Well, I told you to be good," she admonished her twin, as though Draco had never spoken. "The things that manage to happen when you're at that club!"

"I can take care of myself," was the sniffed reply. Then, with a devilish grin, "Besides, I think it's only when you're around that things really get crazy. Need I remind you about a certain dragon trainer …?"

"Oh Godric, don't tell that story. Mum wouldn't speak to me for that whole week until the hickeys faded."

Draco just rolled his eyes at the dismissal and opened his book once more. But before resuming his reading he darted a glance to his wife. A smile brightened her face, but it was thin and her eyes were still quite pained. He shook his head and turned to his book.

A bystander (especially a Slytherin bystander) would say he was going soft. He let the girls off without any further cutting remarks, actually allowing them to brush him aside so casually; and what's more, he was actually caring about Hermione's – _Granger's_- feelings.

And, to his dismay, he'd have to agree. He had greatly relished his post as the most powerful and fearsome bully at Hogwarts. But the war had been long and demanding and _frightening_. It wasn't even his war; he wasn't the pureblood-fanatic that had pledged his family to the Dark Psychopath. (Er, Lord.) No, that had been his father. True, he was puffed up with pride when he was chosen for a job by Voldemort himself, finally being acknowledged as a great wizard. He stopped liking it quickly, when it became a matter of his family's lives, and of taking the lives of others. After all the struggle and turmoil he had been through, he really had no fight left. The frequency with which he filched Calming Draughts from his mother's cabinet had only recently decreased, and that was due much to the fact that she had stopped restocking quite so often since Granger had come to live with them.

Granger … Hermione (he supposed he'd have to get used to that now). He found it increasingly difficult to maintain his hatred against her. For one, she made his mother … happy. How, he didn't know, but she somehow managed to bring a light back into her that had been long extinguished by his father.

But more than that, she was becoming an actual person to him, and a decent one at that. No longer was she just a jumble of traits that he could generalize and then trivialize – know-it-all, overeager, pushy, damnably proud. She wasn't even ugly, as he had long insisted she was. The more he was forced to be around her, the more his perception of the world changed. As she developed as a person in his mind, so did the many others he had held at arm's length and deemed to be below him.

Her love of knowledge, for example, was real and admirable. She strove to improve herself, not gain power or give herself something to brag about. She had found a passion. Thus far, his had only been proving himself better than others.

She was compassionate, patient, and kind. He had, of course, observed this in her interactions with her friends. Yet now it stood starkly before him, highlighting her role as the beauty and his as the beast. She was trying to make it work, trying to make the best of their situation. She was the first to back off from their mutual feud. In fact, she bore his snide remarks and insults in silence, usually.

She was, in fact, much more silent lately. This was no doubt a result of the war, her tendency to draw back into herself. Sometimes she would break out of a daze and stare wildly around the room, as though fearing that everything would suddenly disappear. It was apparent to Draco that the war had scarred her far more deeply than it had him, though their experiences could not be compared. It made her _too_ human, hearing her screams and cries down the hall at night, seeing her jump if someone Apparated behind her. The perpetually haunted, tired look in her eyes.

Sometimes he couldn't help but feel that she didn't deserve this whole mess. It made him feel rather lousy, fighting against her when she wasn't even fighting back, when the rest of the world had supposedly moved past such behavior. Yet he couldn't stop himself, he had to keep clinging to those old barbs he used to throw at her. Why? Why couldn't he just let them go?

_Because that would mean I've been wrong about everything …. _


	4. Chapter 4

_Huzzah! Another chapter! Sorry if it seems the story's dragging. I'm trying to balance chapter length with story progress. This one's actually rather long._

_For all those of you waiting for the story of how Hermione and Draco got together ... just wait through this one chapter! You'll find out in the next chapter, I promise. _

* * *

About an hour from the school, Hermione ushered her friends from the compartment and swiftly set about changing into her school robes (not letting anyone witness her transformation by changing in the bathrooms added to the image of her power). Draco steadfastly kept his eyes off of her as she did this, though he couldn't resist the flash of her knickers he caught as she pulled her jeans off from under her skirt. She turned to him as she adjusted the skirt, a small frown of disapproval tugging at her mouth.

"You should be getting ready too, Draco. It's part of our duties to make rounds in the last half-hour before we arrive." He scoffed – the title of Head Boy had been given to him simply for convenience's sake, so that they could share the quarters of the Heads as a couple. The frown deepened. "I know what you're thinking, but Professor McGonagall expects you to maintain your duties as well as any other Head would. And if you expect me to somehow hold both of our posts by myself, especially with me …." She fluttered her hands before her stomach agitatedly. "Well, it's just not going to happen."

Malfoy simply rolled his eyes. True, the thought of shirking his duties onto his wife had floated through his mind. However, even without his mother's constant goading, he was better than that.

So he tossed on his robes, fastened his Head badge, and joined her in the hall, ready to scowl the students into obedience.

For the next thirty minutes, they remedied train-ride tiffs, torn robes, lost pets and wants, and a rather inappropriate hex performed clumsily by a third-year ("I swear, I didn't know what it would do!"). When the train pulled up to its stop, Hermione had sore feet and only enough time to run back to her compartment and grab her rucksack. Draco strolled in lazily after her.

"We've got to get out right as soon as we stop," she explained, a little harried as she checked for any items left out of her bag. "Corralling the first-years, that's your job. Do your best not to scare them. I'm dealing with the rest of the students. Protocol's changed since …."

She hushed for a moment, but as she looked at her reflection in the darkened window to straighten her tie, he glimpsed a fear that surprised him shining in her eyes.

"If you keep fretting like that, you're going to lose those plentiful wits of yours." The words had tumbled out before he had thought much about them. "You won't have any trouble with authority, I'm sure."

A puzzled look crossed her face as she turned to stare at him. His words were laced with their usual snideness, but it was as though the edges had been sanded down into something softer. She opened her mouth, then, with nothing to say, shut it. The train jostled to a stop.

"Well," she said, turning swiftly to the door. "It's time. Let's hurry along, then."

They leapt from the train and scurried across the platform just in time to watch the flood of students erupt from the train. She and Draco stood before the exit of the platform, watching the students warily, sometimes shouting warnings at the particularly rowdy ones, and waiting for the last of the train's doors to close. Finally, after the train sped off to … well, wherever it rests during the school year, Hermione stepped up onto a bench and turned to face the crowd.

"Students … students, please …. Hey!" Finally quite frustrated, she pressed her wand to her throat with a Sonorus charm.

"**Quiet!**" she bellowed. Once all of the shocked faces had turned to her she dropped her voice to a gentle murmur, still quite loud with the charm. "Thank you. I know you normally expect Professor McGonagall to lead you to the school. However, all of the faculty is attending to ongoing preparations at the castle. The school was reopened because it has been repaired to the point that it can be lived in, but it isn't even halfway to full restoration. As such, please make sure to listen to the opening speech from the Headmistress very carefully, as it will outline the parts of the castle still unstable.

"Now, if the first-years would follow the Head Boy over to the lake." She gave him a pointed look, prompting him to give a halfhearted wave to identify himself. "We're still a bit short on boats, so we may have one person extra in a few. Please be careful not to tip them."

Once the youngest had woven their way out of the crowd and filed in behind the intimidating blonde, she turned to the older students with a mild smile.

"The rest of you with me, then."

* * *

The path from Hogsmeade to the castle was short and luckily well-lit by the nearly-full moon. The students chattered behind Hermione and she decided not to worry herself wondering just how many were gossiping about her. She also pointedly avoided thoughts about her once-friends, probably walking as far back from her as possible. She reveled in the feeling of normalcy that the abundance of youth and voices provided. As she approached a break in the woods, she knew it wouldn't last much longer.

As the group cleared out of the thick woods, the chattering died down to murmurs and soft gasps as they saw the castle.

The front corner in the upper left was entirely blown apart, exposing the charred remains of the classrooms that once made up that tower. Many of the windows were gone, some entirely missing while others bore jagged shards that gleamed in the moonlight and lined the gaps like teeth. All sorts of residue marred the front wall, debris jammed into the walls and marks from spells. The most disturbing was a large-ish spill of red about two stories up that looked very much like blood.

A collective shudder passed over the crowd, Hermione included. She collected herself quickly, however, and turned to the now still crowd.

"No use dawdling, it's not going to transform into the castle you once knew any time soon. Rather than a reminder of the War, the teachers hope that it will serve as a reminder of the strength that the wizarding world has shown throughout it. It's up to all of us to make the year happy regardless. Come on now."

With that she led the subdued students across the broad lawn and through the wide doors of the school. The entrance hall was warm as always, sealed from all autumn drafts. It was among the first of the rooms to be repaired, along with the Great Hall. The student body let out a small sigh of relief at that small reminder of normalcy. The Hall was lit with its usual army of candles, flickering over the vast wood tables that were covered in gleaming tableware. Over their heads the enchanted ceiling displayed the stars, bright in the the unpolluted sky. Happy chatter resumed as the students separated and occupied their usual tables.

Soon after, the first-years were led in by a visibly disgruntled Draco. Several were dripping heavily on the stone floor, looking uncomfortable and abashed. Two were on the verge of tears. As she walked up to join him at the front of the line, Hermione cast quick drying charms over the poor children. She raised a questioning and not-entirely-happy brow at Malfoy.

"Whoever decided I should be left to deal with this daft lot of babies is clearly mad …." he muttered. Hermione simply shook her head and turned around as the room quieted with their Headmistress' entrance.

The war had added many years to the dignified woman's face, but the work of the summer had returned some verve to her. Her grey-streaked hair was pulled back into its usual severe bun, but it no longer looked as though it was puller her face into her infamous stern expression. In fact, her she seemed to have inherited a flicker of that twinkle that had always resided in Dumbledore's eyes. She gave a small smile as she approached the Head couple (though she first stopped with a disapproving twist of her mouth to adjust a boy's tie).

"I will join you two after dinner to detail your living arrangements for the year," she murmured, leaning in and taking Hermione's hand. "For now you may sit down and join your peers for the feast. You may sit with your own houses or join your spouse at their table. I will leave that to your discretion." With a small squeeze of her hand, she turned and swept up to the front of the room to start the sorting.

Hermione glanced sideways at Malfoy, who, without a word to her, stormed off to the Slytherin table. She shook her head at the mere thought – there was no way she was sitting with those snakes. She made her way to the back of the table laden in red and gold, looking for a friendly face. Most students were facing the front, excited to noisily welcome the new members of their house. Lavender and the twins were in an animated conversation halfway down the table. Not wanting to interrupt or bring any attention to herself, she placed herself quietly at the very end of the bench. The Sorting had already started and a wiry boy with mousy light brown hair was just having the Hat placed over his head. There was a second of silence, and then the mouth-seam of the Hat pulled itself open and bellowed "RAVENCLAW!" Cheers erupted from the house's table and the boy, now red-cheeked and smiling, walked over to receive welcomes and claps on the back from his new peers. Hermione sat back and smiled. She had missed the years starting like this – cheerful, boisterous, and humming with the possibilities that came with a new term. Missing one year made it seem like there had been a gigantic gap between this Opening Feast and the last she had attended. It had, after all, been two years.

The Sorting was longer than usual, as the muggle-borns who were kept from entering the school the previous year had to be sorted as well. As the Hat and stool were taken from the room and the last of the raucous cheers had subsided (little Antoinette Zimmer had been sorted into Gryffindor, the loudest table of all), the Headmistress walked to her place at the center of the staff table and waved for attention. The crowd hushed in curiosity, vaguely set on edge by the fact that it was not the old, somewhat silly old man addressing them now.

"It is difficult to know what to do with this year. The first instinct is to mourn. We have much to mourn, after all – almost everyone in this room has felt a loss of some sort. Those of us in the front lines experienced many of them." She took a pause only to dab at her eye. "The Wizarding world is far from recovering itself, and the evidence seems to be all around us. The months after the Final Battle have been steeped in sadness.

"However," she continued firmly, "we cannot allow ourselves to be overcome by our pain. The past must be acknowledged, yes, and remembered, but it cannot overtake the present and future. This school was opened all those centuries ago not just to teach, but also to bring together bright witches and wizards of all ages. In this war, we learned that differences are easily cast aside when facing a mutual difficulty, that the power to help others is with us all, and that there is more strength in love than in anger and enmity. Hopefully we will keep these lessons with us always and use them to facilitate the first of many bright years here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"That said, there are rules to be followed, including several new ones. However, I'm not foolish enough to believe that it will be any good lecturing you on empty stomachs. So, the subject of conduct will be left for after dinner. Eat up!"

She swept her arms out and on every table, much to the surprise and glee of the first-years, appeared a feast of epic proportions. Hermione noted wryly that the House Elves must be thrilled to be serving such a large crowd.

She was rather peckish after losing her breakfast and being offered only sweets and snacks on the train, so she set to work making good used of the elves' labor. She was determined to eat right through this pregnancy – vegetables for vitamins, protein to provide building blocks for her growing child …. She could still feel herself glowing every time she thought those two words. No, she hadn't wanted to be in this situation, but now that she was, well, she couldn't help it. She already loved that dear baby with every fiber of her heart.

She glanced up to see Malfoy also sitting at the very end of his table, dining with the delicate manners of the aristocracy. As always. Only now nobody was looking at him except to return the sneers with which he once looked down upon them. With a sigh, she realized he was alone. Hermione had a handful of people that were openly friendly to her and the general respect and politeness of many others around her. She even (very occasionally) allowed herself to hope that Ron's fury would eventually dwindle and she would no longer be estranged from her best friends and the only family she had left.

But Draco, he only had lackeys and underlings, those he could use and those he insulted. The entire Slytherin house often seemed like one large business connection breedery. Now that he had fallen so far out of the public's graces, he had nobody but his wife on his side.

And it didn't look like he'd be warming up to her any time soon.


	5. Chapter 5

_Ta-dah! Another chapter in the same month I put out the previous one. Astounding, what summer gives you time to do. This chapter was pretty difficult to write, and there was a lot of pressure to make it good! But I just sat myself down and shuffled pieces and filled in holes, and finally came out with this. It's the longest chapter yet._

_This is also going to be the most explicit chapter, though I don't think it warrants and M rating. That's just my opinion, though; feel free to correct me …. In any case, this story isn't about the sex, but I did describe it (to an extent) in this chapter, because the way it happened and the tone of the whole event are pretty important. When picturing it I always had "Crush" by Pendulum in my head, but I doubt that the scene I wrote goes very well with it. It needed to be relatively short, after all._

_If any of you would like to write your own lemons for the story, please feel free to. I'd be really interested to see them and how they fit with my story._

_By the way, I drew a floorplan of their rooms. I can't seem to include a link for it, though.  
_

* * *

The sharp clacks of McGonogal's heels echoed down the corridor, cutting through the tense silence between the couple behind her. She cleared her throat after a moment and spoke.

"As you know, the Heads' quarters are two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a shared common room with a small kitchenette. Given your situation you may choose to use only one of the rooms. Or not," she amended at Draco's quiet sound of disgust. "However, one of the rooms will have to be changed into a nursery once the baby comes. The bedrooms mold themselves to their owners, so you two will have to work that out yourselves. The password is 'Smarmy Bard'. You will be notified when it is changed, which will be every three months."

They stopped before a tall painting of a rather cheery wizard. His hair was white and his cheeks rosy. The starry, deep purple robes draped over his lean frame rustled as he bowed excitedly to the approaching party.

"Good evening, Professor McGonogal. These are this year's children?"

"That they are." Hermione was surprised, as she came to stand next to her, to find a small smile on the Professor's face.

"Splendid! I so look forward to getting to know them. And a married couple no less! Make sure your amorous activities aren't too loud at night; a man my age especially needs his beauty sleep, you know." He winked conspiratorially at Draco, who quickly donned an expression of disgust. A small stab went through Hermione's heart.

"Santor, please!" Minerva chided lightly.

"Sorry," Hermione chimed in, "but you wouldn't happen to be Merlin's poet cousin, Santor?"

"I am!" The man seemed overjoyed at the recognition. "You've read my writings?"

"A few," she admitted. "I've mostly read about you in history books. I was quite fascinated by your influence on the Albaneo-Prussian War of ( )." He all but glowed as he beamed at her.

"I'm touched, my dear. I look forward to conversing with you. However, it is late and you'll be wanting to get off your feet. Password?"

"Smarmy bard." As soon as she spoke, a hand extended itself from the portrait, causing her to jump back in surprise. She took the hand, startled by its canvas-like texture, and pulled the door open.

The common room was cozy, decorated with a few small paintings of still-life and country scenery. A navy blue couch and easy chair were arranged around a long coffee table of dark wood, and a fire was already roaring in the fireplace that was embedded in the wall. Hermione noted an empty portrait on the wall facing the couch.

"If you have no questions … ?" quipped the professor, standing in the doorway as the couple took in their new home. The two shook their heads. "Very well. Good night, then. And welcome back to Hogwarts."

They listened for a moment to Santor calling particularly flattering good-nights after her.

"I'll take the one on the right." And without giving Hermione a chance to protest, Draco strode away and shut himself into the room. Not that she particularly cared which room she got. Again she sighed (she'd really have to stop doing that soon, she wasn't the sighing type) and went to check out her own room. As she grasped the door handle she felt a small tug of magic in her arm, and opened to door to find warmly lit room, decorated in rich burgundies and beige.

Her bed was large and sumptuous, a pleasant change from the canopied four-poster beds the dorms housed. She was not usually one for frivolities, but she was secretly pleased. She loved reading in bed, and this one looked like it would be especially welcoming in the winter. Beside the bed was a small bookshelf with all her books already arranged on it, schoolbooks taking up the top shelf. Against the wall opposite the door was a large desk, set in front of an octagonal glass window.

She loved it.

* * *

The mystery of the empty portrait frame was explained later that evening, when Hermione was sitting on the couch with a book, having just put a pot of tea to steep. She had her feet tucked up beside her on the couch and her face down toward her book when a voice spoke in front of her.

"We have visitors!" She practically launched herself off the couch in surprise. Santor sat smiling pleasantly in the frame, which had only a moment ago held nothing more than a chair, table, stack of books, and an apple.

"Do we now?" she asked, mildly flustered still.

"Three charming young ladies. Said they were here to see you."

"Yes, my friends. I'll let them in." Behind the door – which opened from the inside with a simple handle rather than a cold, painted hand – stood the three girls. They took a moment to gaze at the interior of the room behind her before turning their eager eyes back to Hermione. She bit her lip. She didn't want to disappoint them, but this wasn't going to be the giggly gossip-fest they were expecting. In the foreseeable future, however, they were her only support system ….

She glanced back around the room, eyes landing on Draco's tightly shut door.

"We'll talk in my room." She led them inside, picking up the tea service and levitating it along behind them.

The girls gasped at her room, taking a moment to run their hands over her bed and admire the sconces on the wall. Then they dutifully plopped themselves down on the floor in a square, with one side open for her to sit in. She landed the service on the rug between them and did so.

"Well?" Parvati prompted. "Let's start at the beginning. Was he any good?"

"I … I don't really know. I don't have anything to compare it to, for starters. And, well, I don't really remember all of it." This gave the girls a moment's pause.

"What do you mean," Lavender asked quietly, "you don't remember?"

Hermione closed her eyes and began to recount the night.

* * *

She didn't want to be there, at Hogwarts, in the Great Hall, at that damned Restoration Ball. The hall, the core of the school, had been restored. It was cause for joy and merriment to everybody but Hermione. She watched the crowds around her disinterestedly. People chattering, dancing, _laughing_. She couldn't seem to remember what it felt like to want to do that. She couldn't imagine a time in which she'd want to do it again.

Where was all this laughter coming from? The war was barely over. Many graves were still only freshly covered. And yet these people could go about as though it never happened. Everyone was so desperate to live in a happy, unbroken world again. As if it were so easy.

She tipped back her glass and downed the contents in one breath. Something alcoholic, she didn't really care what – it wasn't her first for the evening. Hermione had never drank before, but figured tonight was a good enough time to start. Besides, nobody really bothered with her anymore so it was unlikely anyone would notice if she got a little shitfaced.

Unable to watch the people any longer, she turned to look at the wall before her. It was probably an even worse sight. She and the rest of the Golden Trio, as well as some of the family, were seated at one of the tables nearest to the wall that featured the pictures of all those on their side who had died. She was lucky enough to have the seat that faced it. The photographs smiled and waved at her, as though they were all in some fantastically happy place now and wanted to convey how much fun they were having, albeit silently.

The truth was that they were dead. Nothing more or less than dead.

She inspected all of the pictures, sifting through the faces she had only seen in passing, housemates that she had spoken to on occasion, and those most dear to her heart. Lupin waved from a frame about halfway up the wall before her, an arm around Tonks, who was resting her neon pink head on his shoulder. She couldn't look at them without thinking of the son they left behind. And off to the right and a bit higher up was a picture of the twins. The fact was that it had been impossible to find a photograph of one without the other, but Hermione found the picture to be fitting as it was. They would always be remembered as a pair, and without one there was an almost palpable hole next to the other. For a while it had seemed that George might as well have died with Fred, given the shape he was in.

She had knocked back two more before a hand on her shoulder pulled her from her thoughts.

"It's a tragedy, truly. The loss of so many good people. Many of them with the bulk of their lives ahead of them." McGonagal stood behind her, staring up at the pictures from beneath the brim of her hat. "It's unbearable to even think about it, sometimes."

Hermione relaxed under her grip for a moment, before tensing when she spoke again.

"I came to find you, Miss Granger, because I'd heard that you will be returning to the school in the coming year." Hermione frowned, certain she had not yet told anyone of her decision. "I'm very happy to inform you that you'll be receiving the position of Head Girl, though I'm sure you knew that it wasn't really any contest with you in the running. If only it were so easy to choose the Head Boy!" She walked away with a light chuckle.

Almost without deciding to, Hermione reached over the table to grab the mostly-full bottle of champagne and swept out of the room. She knew no one was following her as she rushed through the castle. Without any particular destination in mind, she ended up in the Astronomy tower.

The room was entirely empty, with the exception of the stone pillar in the center of the room. She sat herself against it and reveled in the blessed quiet around her and the coolness of the night. She'd only had a few minutes to herself when the sound of footsteps reached her ears from the stairs.

"Well, well, well. If I didn't know any better, I'd say I found you hiding up here. Where's that lion's courage now?"

"Sod off, Malfoy."

"Goodness," even drunk, he managed to produce that infuriating smirk of his, "the Gryffindor Princess must be well and truly gone if she's using that sort of language."

"You have no idea," she slurred under her breath, not quite quietly enough for it to escape his ears.

Something in her tone drew his gaze back to her, and he suddenly became quite aware that he had never seen her so thin. Even with her hair so neatly piled up, her dress smooth and unwrinkled, she looked wild and dark.

She was more intoxicating than the wine he had been desperately downing all evening.

He ambled, slightly unsteady, over to the pillar and sat down beside her, catching a whiff of alcohol from her as well. Spotting the bottle of champagne in her hand, he gently extracted it from her grip. She didn't bother to protest or even look at him. He eyed the hand that now lay limp on the floor, the bony wrist, the elegant fingers curling up to her palm.

"We're both hiding, aren't we?" she asked quietly, interrupting his thoughts. He stared at her for a moment before letting out a short laugh.

"Always too perceptive for your own good, Granger."

"What are you hiding from?"

"Oh, just everybody who hates me." He snorted and passed the bottle back to her. "The wizarding world decides to spare us from Azkaban only to scorn and jeer us. What about you? Too many adoring fans down there for you?"

"... the faces. All those dead faces staring down at me. All the living crowding in on me, expecting me to up and get over the war. To be happy again, be part of their shiny, new world.." She gave a flat, humorless laugh. "Everyone's so busy picking up their pieces, filling themselves with hope for the future. They don't understand. They don't understand what we did, what we had to sacrifice. They're so busy rebuilding their happy little lives. They don't understand that I don't have any pieces left to pick up. They don't understand that after all that I've destroyed-"

She cut herself off suddenly and showed no signs of continuing, so Draco took back the champagne for another swig. The bottle passed back and forth between them for a few minutes more, quickly emptying, before Hermione spoke again.

"I never gave myself time to think about it then. I just kept telling myself that I was doing the right thing, doing what had to be done, because I know it was the only way I could go through with it all. Now that the war's over, all I can think is that it was shit. Just total, complete shit." Malfoy's brows jumped at her uncharacteristic language. "We didn't ask for the damn thing. We weren't the ones itching to fight, to kill. And yet, that's how we ended up. Eager to take down the enemy and end it. Happy because a loss on their side meant our side was closer to victory. And we'd say it was for our family, and for the light, and for peace. But no matter how we justified it, all we were doing was killing. We grew up killi-"

His lips crashed into hers, his body pulling her down onto the floor under him. Suddenly his hands were all over her body, down the silk of her arms, up the curves of her body. He moaned into her mouth as he cupped a breast. Gods, she felt so good, so welcoming. The heat between them was unbearable, and he found he was rubbing himself against her like an overeager boy with his first woman.

"_Fuck._" He pulled back to meet her dazed eyes, listening to her ragged breaths. Her gaze dropped down to his chest and she ran a finger over the buttons of his shirt. He took the gesture as a request. "Yes. _Yes._"

He swiftly unbuttoned it as he bent down to kiss her again. As his hands dipped into her bodice he ran his lips and tongue over her neck, jaw, collarbone. Her dress continued to rise up over her legs as he relished the friction between their bodies. One hand reached down to follow the line of her leg up, up ….

_Fuck._ She was so wet for him. So fucking ready. All that was stopping him was a few layers of cloth.

She didn't even feel the pain as he penetrated her, too deep in a drunken haze to register it. She wasn't aware of the pain, of the feeling of the stone floor shifting under her back with every thrust. The unfamiliar presence within her and the fog of pleasure served to further cloud her brain until she felt like she was twirling through the stars, floating up out of her body.

It was over when Draco came, his head thrown back and eyes shut tight. He leaned over her for a moment to catch his breath, head hovering inches over her chest.

"Fuck."

Coldness rushed between them as he stood and began to right his clothes. Hermione didn't move. She simply opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, watching it sway and turn above her. Draco paused.

"You're alright, Granger?" She nodded, but didn't move. She stayed there on the floor for a while after he left, trying but failing to process what had just happened.

Once it finally crossed her mind that if she stayed too long, people would wonder where she had gone, she stood and righted herself as well. Once she was as meticulously put together as she had been when she came up, she started down the stairs. Each step echoed dully through her body. She felt hollow and heavy, like a thick shell of her old self.

Entering the Great Hall, she found the Weasleys and Harry congregated around their table, looking as though they were preparing to leave. Ron turned to her as she stepped up behind him.

"Where were you? We're just about to leave."

"I went for a walk." She didn't meet his eyes, instead watching the bustling family before her. None of them knew what had just happened. Nothing felt different to her, but nothing felt the same to her either. She followed them mutely out of the castle and into the sharp chill of the night without looking back.

She didn't bother to take off her makeup when they returned to the Burrow. She hung up her dress, tossed her knickers in the trash, and went to bed, enjoying her first dreamless sleep in over a month.


	6. Chapter 6

_ Well, I had quite a bit of trouble with this chapter, annoyingly enough. And it's the shortest one so far! It cleared up a bit, though, when I realized I was being too convoluted and wordy about trying to convey the emotions. Hopefully I did a good job, but I guess we can come back to it if not. I just need the plot to start moving …. _

_ Last week I donated blood and now I have a gnarly and painful bruise on my arm. Ouchies. _

_ On an IMPORTANT NOTE: abortion is mentioned in this chapter. I did not use this opportunity to inject my ideals into the story. My views are personal and irrelevant; I only tried to think of how the characters would react to the idea. I have this feeling that abortion would be discouraged in Wizarding society. _

_ In any case, sorry for the paltry chapter. Enjoy Draco's nosiness and inner turmoil. :)_

* * *

Draco sat in the center of his bed, forearms resting on his bent knees. His mind was reeling with all of the information he'd gleaned listening in through Hermione's door.

Apallingly enough, she told the girls about their little tryst. He didn't like thinking about that night to begin with. He'd lost control, acted entirely on impulse and emotion. Stupid.

It shocked him, though, how little detail there was to her memory of that night. He hadn't known she'd been so damn _gone_. He'd been drunk enough to mistake her dazed expression as lustful, to dismiss her absent gaze.

He felt like filth. And she wasn't even done.

She explained how she was shunned from the Weasley home. Then how she couldn't find her parents (which struck him as odd). Finally, she left him absolutely gobbsmacked when a girl asked, morbid curiousity winning out over taboo, why Hermione hadn't decided to simply abort the pregnancy.

_"To be honest, I'd thought about that." Draco was sure his jaw truly had hit the floor when he heard the words. "But I couldn't do it. It wasn't some noble reason, like faith or morality. I just … after all the lives we've lost, all the deaths so fresh in my mind, I couldn't do it. There was the potential for another life growing inside of me, and I just couldn't let it go." _

Foolish girl! That sensitivity to death, that respect and attachment to life, was in itself noble. And now she was hurting herself, separating herself from those she loved and enduring the barbs thrown at her every day, all for the sake of the little spawn inside her. Even when she came to him for help, she had asked nothing for herself. Only that the baby be given a decent life.

_"It was his fault. He did this to you." The very thought that had plagued him for weeks was voiced by one of the girls._

_ "Don't," Hermione cut in quietly. He grimaced as he realized she was defending him. "We've gone over it before, and we've given up trying to assign blame. We both had a role in this; it's not a matter of fault." _

_ "But you didn't want it," another girl argued. _

_ "I could have stopped him; I had my wand on me. But I was beyond wanting or not wanting by that point. Maybe I didn't want sex, but I was looking for an escape and that's what I found." _

Well. Now he felt used and, for the first time in his life, guilty for using someone else.

_"Besides," He could her the adoration and warmth in her voice. "I love it already. My baby." _

_ The last words were crooned and he could picture her sitting there, hands pressed over her belly, glowing with a gentle smile. Well, maybe it wasn't so bad. He had clearly given her something she wanted. Perhaps no blame was needed at all. _

He shook his head of the thought and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Leave it to a Slytherin to try and worm out of any blame, he mused.

He wanted to scream. He couldn't do this! Forget being a young father, having to love a child while barely knowing the damned emotion himself. He simply couldn't live with Granger. He didn't want to know her as a person, see how kind and bloody saint-like she was. All it did was make him feel more like filth. There was a reason he kept the company of those nasty Slytherins instead! They were like him – snooty, selfish, and cruel. In a Slytherin's world that was normal.

But her presence reminded him that in reality he was, much like his father, a truly terrible man.

* * *

As the clock struck the eleventh hour, Hermione had to acknowledge the fact that she would have to go to bed very if she hoped to stay awake through her classes the next day. She had started sleeping better, somewhat, during the pregnancy – a miracle considering that the Healer in the prenatal ward had ordered her to cut down her use of Sleeping Draught to only twice a week.

Still, she didn't like to think about it. The less she thought about the dreams, the less, she hoped, they would plague her. After all, didn't the brain use dreams to process one's worries? She was sure she had read something like that.

She was staring into her mug warm milk sourly, cursing the fact that she hadn't thought to pack decaffienated tea, when Draco slunk out of his room. He stopped short at the threshold of the common room, but when she looked up he had to continue on his way. He addressed her brusquely.

"Not drinking tea, I hope."

"Warm milk." she replied glumly. "Tea would be fantastic, though."

He didn't bother to continue the conversation as he poured himself a glass of water. From a sidelong glance he could see she was caught up in thought. She stroked the handle of her mug with one finger.

"Do you worry about the future?" she asked suddenly, her voice calm and quiet.

Yes, he worried about the future very much. He worried about how he would forge a career now that his family's name was disgraced, about finishing his education in a school full of people he abhored him. He worried about having to care for a baby. Having to raise it. He hadn't much of a father, how should he know how to be one?

Of course, Granger wouldn't be hearing any of that.

"No. I have money and money fixes everything," he replied coldly. "Isn't that why you came to me?"

"Of course not." It was obvious that she was trying to convey her indignation, but the weariness in her eyes matched the dullness of her voice. He gazed at her for a moment.

"Granger, why didn't you go find your parents?" He wasn't sure why he asked, and he almost expected her to yell at him to bugger off. He was quite surprised when she gave a small smile.

"You really know how to go right for the gut, don't you Malfoy?" He didn't respond. "I didn't find them because I couldn't."

"Couldn't find them?" He snorted. "A bright witch like you? What, did you forget which rock you hid them under?"

"No, I know roughly where they are. I could find them if I tried." She gave a weak laugh and dropped her face into her hands. "Bright witch indeed. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. You know how I was after the War; I couldn't let them see that. I thought I could wait until I was doing better, but that never really did happen.

"How could I come to them now? What parent wants to be woken up from a fake life to be informed that the last year of their lives was a lie and that their young daughter is both damaged and pregnant? They're better off they way they are now, happy in their new world."

By the end of her explanation her voice was cracking and he could see the slight tremor in her body. Before him was a girl in true pain, who lost more than just her pride. They had one thing in common, that they both lost their childhoods to Voldemort. But she had had so much more at stake.

"Well, one thing's for sure – you really are a wreck." He breezed past her to his room, which he'd only left to try and improve his mood.

So much for that.


End file.
